Said The Spider To The Fly
by slaughterhouse
Summary: Kiss me like you mean goodbye. Creek, lots of side pairings. M for heavy drug use, violence, and sex
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This is the first South Park fanfiction I've written since like 7th grade SO GIVE ME A BREAK ALRIGHT. This was actually supposed to just be a oneshot, but I've got a lot more that I want to add to it. I'm not sure how long it'll be, though. Haha. I'm sorry if it's a bit hard to follow right now, I like my prologues to be DEEP AND BROODING.

Sorry if there's errors, too. I have no beta or anything. I DID MY BEST. I SERIOUSLY RE-READ THIS LIKE 80 TIMES AND I AM SICK OF LOOKING AT IT.

I hope you guys enjoy. ;) South Park belongs to Matt and Trey, etc etc.

* * *

Both of them are monsters in their own way, but Craig— Craig is this horrible disgusting thing right now. His knuckles slam into Tweek's cheekbone. Tweek can barely feel it. His bloody mouth curves into something of a grin. A really fucked up grin. His pretty smile isn't so pretty right now.

"Hit me again."

Craig's teeth grit and he grinds them angrily, swinging his fist again, this time square into Tweek's nose. The crack of bone echoes throughout the room. "You want me to keep fucking hitting you? You like this?"

"I'll l-let you beat the living FUCK out of me if you promise to stay. Ack, Craig. Please don't l-leave—" Before Tweek can finish, Craig's fist is colliding with Tweek's temple. Tweek is on the floor now, Craig straddling his hips.

Two days ago, had Craig been on top of Tweek, it would be for different reasons. He wouldn't be beating the shit out of him. He would be savagely devouring that gorgeous, gorgeous mouth. He would be grinding his hips down into Tweek's own, dry fucking him until— No. Now, this was all there was.

This was all he could do.

Craig lets his eyes wander to Tweek's arms, and tries to keep himself from gagging. Bloody track marks and disgusting bruises litter the small boy's limbs, and it only throws Craig further into the rage that is fueling his every action.

Craig's calloused hands wrap around Tweeks throat, threatening to choke him to death. God, he wants to. He wishes he could.

Tweek brings limp hands to rest on Craig's, which are still tight around his neck. "Craig," he chokes. "I love you, p-please..."

Craig feels his lower lip tremble, but not because he's about to cry. He's fucking angry. He hates Tweek. He hates him so much. "I fucking hate you. Shut the fuck up." He releases Tweek's neck, only to thread his bloody right hand into the messy blond hair, jerking Tweek up to face him. He ignores the protests and blood that leaks from the younger boy's mouth.

"You love me? That's fucking funny." He slams Tweek's head to the wood floors beneath them, finding satisfaction in the way his skull cracks against the surface. "I hate you so much. I want to fucking kill you."

Craig was beyond being angry. He was so overcome with emotion that he felt like he was actually losing his mind. He had AIDS. He had fucking _AIDS_. He wanted to kill Tweek. He wanted to chop him up, drown him, rape him (it wouldn't matter now), rip him to pieces. He grimaced.

"How could you fucking do this to me? You're such a fuck up."

"I know, Craig..." Tweek feels the weight disappear from his stomach, and Craig is now gone. He brings a sloppy hand to his face as the drugs start to sink in.

* * *

Tweek was an addict. He knew this. Craig knew this. It started at such a young age, too. Something as innocent as coffee— and it had come to this.

At age thirteen, Tweek was exposed to marijuana. Not a big deal, right? Most kids his age and around there experimented with pot. He and Craig had actually become pretty close through smoking weed. It was fun and exhilarating and it calmed his usually jittery self down. While he was still pretty dependent on coffee, he couldn't deny that he became a pothead pretty quickly. Being stoned all day was nothing new to Tweek. And it didn't bother his best friend, Craig that much. He was stoned pretty much all the time, too.

At sixteen and a half, Tweek decided he was bored with weed. He had gotten quite a few sources, notorious for being one of the town's biggest potheads, and through these sources decided to experiment with other substances. He started with shit like pills and computer duster, but was soon enough snorting coke like Cartman's mom on a Friday night.

It was all downhill from there.

Craig and Tweek never considered themselves "boyfriends" or anything of the like, because that was just gay. (Both were in denial of any homosexuality that tainted their friendship, despite the kissing, heavy petting, and semi-occasional blow jobs when Tweek's parents were working late at the coffee shop.) It was all in good fun.

But Craig stopped talking to Tweek when he found out that he was doing cocaine. Tweek broke down after about three or four days without talking to Craig, and promised never to do it again. Tweek never broke promises.

And he didn't. He stopped doing coke.

He started doing heroin.

For the longest time, it was a secret well kept from Craig. Tweek was always wearing long sleeves anyways, so Craig didn't have to know. And he wouldn't have to lie to Craig either, because he knew that the older boy would never ask him something so scandalous as 'Have you been doing smack?'

For about 5 months, he got away with it.

"Tweek, strip."

"Ngh, Craig. Shut up." Tweek let a lazy grin spread across his face as he playfully smacked Craig's hands away from the hem of his shirt.

Craig detached his mouth from the growing purple hickey on Tweek's neck. "I'm serious, though. I want to fuck you."

"You're drunk, Craig."

"I'm only a little tipsy. Mostly stoned. I still know what I want. They say that drugs and alcohol bring out the truth. And this is the truth," Craig drawled, hands groping at wherever they could reach. "This is what I want."

Tweek swallowed a noise that could probably be classified as a moan. "You don't want to h-have sex with me, Craig. Urk, no homo, remember?"

"Shut the fuck up."

A very fucked up Tweek nodded and lazily let his head roll back. His half lidded eyes watched as Craig skillfully unbuttoned his wrinkled shirt. "You're s-sure you- gahhh, want this?"

"I am," Craig murmured against Tweek's warm skin, feeling the blond shift as he shrugged the rest of his shirt off. Arms wrapped around Craig's neck, but they froze there. Both of them were completely stiff.

Tweek, in realization. Craig, in shock.

"Your arms."

Tweek jerked back shakily, trying to cover himself. He had never felt so exposed.

That was the very first time that Craig had ever hit Tweek.

* * *

Drip, drip.

Tweek's mouth hangs open, shallow breaths shaking the air around him. Blood seemingly pours from his nose into the sink below him. He popped it back into place a few seconds ago, but it didn't hurt. He didn't feel a thing.

Drip, drip.

The red droplets in the sink start to swim together, making a small pool of his blood. Tweek wets his chapped bottom lip and it is all he can do to keep himself steady on the counter. The world is horrible and wonderful and he forgets and remembers but he doesn't really know what's going on at all—

Drip.

"Craig?" He barely realizes that it's himself speaking.

Drip, drip.

That's right. Craig. Where did he go?

Tweek sniffles and runs his arm across his face, under his nose, smearing blood all over his upper lip. He doesn't care that his sleeve is ruined— The rest of his shirt already is.

"C-Craig, gah. Where are you?"

He's dizzy. He's so fucking dizzy. He doesn't know what's going on. His arms hurt so bad. They weigh 50 pounds each. His head drops back and he closes his eyes, sliding to the floor in a heap. He can't remember anything.

Wait, no, he can. He can. He remembers shooting up— and Craig punching him in the face. And punching him in the nose. And scratching at him, and punching him, and hurting and bruising and trying to kill him. Shit, that's right. He attempts to stand again— He has to find Craig. Has to talk to him. But God, he's so disoriented. So confused.

"Craig, please, urk. I-I have to..." What did he have to do? Tweek didn't know what he was talking about anymore. He lets the euphoria and weakness take over, and his head hits the solid tile on the bathroom floor. God, everything is so...

"Wonderful..." Tweek goes to wet his bottom lip again, but it won't wet.

* * *

Two nights ago. It was two nights ago that Tweek _knew_. Knew the two things that were completely consuming his world at that moment.

Number one, he was infected. He was infected with a disease so fucking disgusting and abhorrent- but that all disappeared to him at the time.

He should have kept on task— the task to tell Craig that he had gotten infected. But the drugs, the wonderful wonderful drugs, they kept him from it. Side tracked. Tweek fucked him instead.

Because the second thing he knew was that he was horribly, almost sickeningly in love with Craig Tucker.

And, because of the drugs, Craig, the only person in the entire world that he cared about... was going to die, too.


	2. At The Bottom

Tweek retreated to his room after a long day of school. (And a little bit of spying on Craig at football practice, in those deliciously tight pants.) It was about five o' clock, or so.

'Perfect timing,' Tweek thought, tying the strip of cloth around his upper arm tighter. The dull light from outside barely filtered through the thick curtains that Tweek had fashioned to his windows. Slivers of angular light beat down on Tweek's pitiful arm as the golden liquid began to pulse through his veins.

Tweek sighed as relief started to set in. His abused left arm started to feel numb and heavy. He let out a hiss of hot breath as he retracted the needle from his skin, setting it beside him on the mattress. He leaned back heavily against the headboard of his bed. His eyes were wet, and he wiped at them with his right hand, unable to move his left arm for the time being. His trembling form heaved over, but he wasn't going to let himself throw up. He hunched his shoulders and screwed his eyes shut.

It didn't take long for the euphoric buzz he had been longing for to travel through his blood and to his head. His frail body shook and his head lolled back. The feeling was equivalent to some of the very best orgasms he had ever had— maybe better.

Tweek groaned and eventually pulled himself out of bed, padding over to his desk. He plopped down, ready to start his homework. Heroin made focusing on things so much easier. It settled him down, and made him... well, smart. He felt so good. He didn't care how much homework he had. He felt so great.

"Mmm."

The graphite glided across the college ruled paper smoothly, and Tweek reveled in the sensation. He could hear the grate of he lead running against the surface and it sounded so good. Tweek licked his lips. Before he knew it, he was three quarters done with his research paper. He was so smart. Everything was so great.

"Orange Crush" by R.E.M. began to resound in his ears and he hummed along to it— fuck, wait, that was his phone ringing. He reached over, and nimble fingers wrapped around the little box that he so often thumbed text messages into. He flipped it open.

"Nh, hello?"

"Tweek. Have you started that paper yet?"

It was Craig. His voice sounded smooth like an alibi, like vanilla smoke.

"Yeah, I'm—GAH, actually almost done with it, man."

Craig smiled into the receiver. "I'm impressed. Wanna hang out?"

Tweek wanted to hang out. Of course he did. But he couldn't, not when he was still like this— it'd be a few more hours until he was back to normal. "Have you finished your paper?"

"Hm, downright ignoring my request to spend time with my best friend. Who cares if I finished my paper? Let's hang out." Tweek could practically hear Craig's smirk through the phone.

"C-Craig, that is WAY too much pressure. We have to finish these papers, an-and, urk, um... Maybe tomorrow?"

"Great, I'll be over in five." Click.

"M-man, shit!" Tweek shrieked, scrambling to pick up his vials and bags of golden brown that littered the floor. He shoved them under his bed, and began to tidy the rest of his room. Every object that touched his hands seemed to leave an imprint, and it felt so great to touch things.

He pulled at his hair, looking for any other evidence that may or may not be scattered about his room.

Craig already knew that Tweek had been shooting up. He found out about a year ago, only 5 months after Tweek had started doing it. It was just, the disappointment. Craig was hurt by it really bad at first. He punched Tweek as hard as he could, and that black eye took a long time to go away. Tweek was sure that he still had scar tissue from it. They never made up properly— it was more so Craig showing up to Tweek's a couple days later and fucking him until he couldn't breathe.

Not another word was mentioned about Tweek's addiction since then.

Tweek pulled the sleeves of his shirt down, and man, they were so, so soft. Tweek mashed his knuckles together in thought, like his friend, Butters often did.

He laughed softly, picturing innocent little Butters' nervous habit. Although, Butters wasn't quite so innocent now, apparently. Through the grape vine, Tweek had learned of a rumor that he and Kenny were boning— which was strange, because Tweek never thought that Kenny would have liked dick. Kenny was a fucking _womanizer_. It was a weird thought, but—

Tweek's shoulders stiffened as a pair of arms circled around his waist. "C-Craig?"

He felt lips on his neck, and shit, shit, this felt great anyway, but with the drugs, it was even better. His whole body shook as he turned to face the taller boy.

"Gah, when'd you get here?"

"Geeze, Tweekers. I told you I'd be five minutes. Stoner."

Tweek laughed the remark off, and his numb arms found Craig's neck. "I didn't even hear you come in or open the door or anything," Tweek rasped, feeling Craig's presence all around him. His hands were everywhere. He felt himself lifted onto the bed and into Craig's lap. "Mmh, I miss you," Tweek didn't really know what he was saying. All he knew was that he felt so good, and he didn't want this to stop.

"I know," Craig replied against the smaller boy's ear, pulling him flush against him in his lap. He rolled his hips up a bit, grinding the bulge in his pants against Tweek's ass. Cue slutty noises from said boy.

Tweek's thighs hugged Craig's waist a little tighter with the motion. He leaned in and kissed Craig harshly, their noses bumping. Craig's tongue ring click click clicked over each of Tweek's front teeth. The sensation was wonderful.

Their mouths came together and broke apart again and again, a mess of tongue, teeth, and bruised lips. Tweek let himself lose control when he felt Craig's velvet tongue moving in tiny circles over his own. He tasted like cigarettes and gatorade.

Their tongues slid around and over each other over and over and over and it seemed like such a sloppy kiss, but it was all under control. Tweek let out a long sigh when Craig's mouth migrated to the crook of his neck, his pearly whites sinking into his milky skin. His tongue replaced his teeth, and Tweek could feel that little blue stud in the center of Craig's tongue, sliding over his neck, shoulders, neck again.

His body shuddered with pleasure; Craig was all over him, kissing, nipping, biting, licking, warm breath, bite, lick, kiss. Tweek's mind was swimming somewhere that his body wasn't. They were in two different oceans, but both of them were amazing. Tweek reattached his mouth to Craig's, running his tongue over the raven's bottom lip.

Craig's hands were busy working at Tweek's jeans, rubbing slowly at his growing hard on.

"Fffffuck, Craig. Just fuck me," Tweek panted, arching into every touch.

Tweek could feel everything that was happening in panels like vivid images, and could separate them and feel them individually. Sex with Craig was great— it was even better on drugs.

* * *

Craig panicked.

"What the fuck is Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome? Am I gonna lose control of my limbs or something?"

Craig's hands were shaking. He had come to get a physical so that he could continue to play football next season. He wasn't expecting there to be anything _wrong_ with him. There was _never _anything wrong with him. He couldn't remember the last time he was sick.

The doctor swallowed. "Mr. Tucker, you have AIDS."

The world stopped. The entire world stopped. Everything was silent. All Craig could hear was his heart pounding in his head. He sat there for what seemed like hours, processing the information. No.

No.

"No. No I don't. You must have mixed up the blood sample with someone else's," Craig insisted frantically. His voice rose with each word.

"Mr. Tucker, your blood test—"

"Stop fucking calling me that!" Craig clenched his fists angrily. God, no. This wasn't happening. His stomach clenched and churned. He felt like he was going to puke.

"No, no, no, no," Craig repeated over and over to himself. No. No. No. No, no no no no no no no.

In what seemed like no time, Craig had stormed out of Hell's Pass hospital, and his foot was jammed down on the gas. His head was spinning. He weaved in and out of traffic carelessly. Nothing mattered except where he was going.

And he knew exactly where he was going.

* * *

Craig's fist hammered against the large brown door he was standing in front of. After what seemed like a very long waiting period, a surprised (but cheerful, as always) Mrs. Tweak answered. "Well, hey there Craig! I assume you're here to see Tweek."

Craig nodded. "You bet I am," he grated.

As he was let into the house, his jaw tightened. Up the stairs, one, two, three, four, five.

Six. Seven.

Eight.

"C-Craig? Urk! Hey what's up, you didn't call—"

Tweek was jerked up by the collar and slammed against the wall. His head cracked against the panelling and he let out a hiss. He grit his teeth and attempted to swat Craig away, but it did no good. Not this time.

"You motherfucker." Fists tighten.

"Craig, what the hell is your deal, man? Gah!"

"How long have you known?"

"Ugh, known what?"

Craig slammed Tweek against the wall again in frustration.

"You gave me AIDS, you piece of shit." He let Tweek go, and he fell to the floor in a little lump of blonde hair and green shirt.

Tweek's eyes were as big as saucers. Fuck. No, God no. He had meant to tell Craig. He swore to almighty fucking God that he did. How could it have possibly slipped his mind? He fucking wanted to tell Craig that night! And what did he do?

He had sex with him.

He didn't just have sex with him. He got completely fucked up, out of his mind. Then, he savagely _fucked_ him. Like he would never get to again.

Shaking. Horrible shaking. Tweek couldn't stop shaking. His head also shook, back and forth, disbelief. He opened his mouth, but he couldn't find words. He found that he couldn't make a sound at all. He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to apologize.

But what would apologizing do? Jesus, they were both fucked.

Before Tweek could manage a sound at all, Craig attacked him. He pinned him to the floor and began to beat the fuck out of him. His fists smashed into everything that they could possibly manage. Eyes. Nose. Mouth. Teeth. Head. Ears. Neck. Ribs. Stomach. Groin.

Craig's knuckles struck Tweek's face again and again until he was unrecognizable. Blood spattered across Tweek's hardwood floor, his clothes, all over Craig's face and hands.

Tweek got the energy to push Craig off of him, and he stood. He stumbled, taking haggard breaths. "C-Craig, I'm sorry..."

Craig's eyes bored into Tweek's skull. His shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath.

"Craig Tucker," Tweek breathed, blood practically pouring from his face. His eyes lowered, and his bloody mouth curved upward into an ugly smile. "Hit me again."

* * *

**A/N:** OKAY FINALLY. Sorry that this took so damn long to get out, I'm graduating in a week and I have a lot of stuff I'm doing. Exams are this week, so wish me luck! C: More reviews give me more motivation to write! ;D


	3. Eat You Alive

**A/N:** Sorry this took so damn long to update, I was dealing with graduation and stuff. But now I'm all done with school, so I'll have all summer to work on this. And I'm really enjoying writing it, so I hope you guys like it too! Review and all that shit.  


* * *

Butters' fists curled into the pillow that he was currently pressing his forehead into.

"G-Gosh, Kenny..."

Said boy was fucking Butters into his mattress, passing time. As Kenny would say, 'Nothing like starting the day with a nut.' Normally, neither Kenny nor Butters had time to pass while waiting to go to school. But Craig Tucker was late to pick them up. Forty-five minutes late, as a matter of fact.

So Kenny decided to fuck Butters.

Now, Kenny fucked girls. Not boys. He didn't like it. But Butters was Kenny's only exception. Because he _did_ like it. In fact, at the moment, Kenny could easily call Butters his favorite fuck buddy. Since Butters started coming around, fewer and fewer girls came and went through Kenny's door.

Fucking Butters wasn't like fucking a girl, at ALL. And Kenny had fucked lots of girls. (In the ass, too.) And none of them could quite compare with fucking Butters.

A low hiss sounded through Kenny's clenched teeth as he came, a shudder racking his body from the back of his neck all the way down to his toes. Right after he finished, he zipped his pants back up and threw his trademark orange parka on, while Butters proceeded to go to sleep.

"Wake up," Kenny grumbled lazily, getting sort of frustrated with the fact that their ride still was not there. "We gotta go to school, sleeping beauty."

Butters stretched and grinned toothily, sprawling out on the bed. "Ah, I know..."

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's already seven thirty. Fucking Craig, Jesus," Kenny spat, glaring at the little analog clock that was plugged into the wall. It was the same thing every morning. At his house at 7:20 AM.

Since Butters' parents wouldn't let him drive, and no one in Kenny's family could afford a car, they had to mooch rides off of people. Token and Clyde had basketball practice before school. Stan and Kyle walked to school, Wendy drove Cartman's lazy ass from place to place, and there wasn't really anyone else that he particularly wanted a car ride from.

Craig and Kenny had grown pretty close over the years. Both coming from shitty financial situations (mostly on Kenny's end of the spectrum), the two saw each other at the welfare office quite a bit, resulting in something of a friendship.

"Kenny," his mother nagged in that whiny voice of hers, "When is your little friend gonna get here?" She was in the living room, downing a Corona and watching TV. Sounded like the news.

"I don't know, Mom," Kenny snapped.

He rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands when he heard his mother start bitching about how he could not afford to miss any more school.

"Relax, Kenny, it's, ah, not so bad..." Butters coaxed.

A make out session and a half later, Craig finally showed up.

Kenny angrily threw open the door of Craig's '98 Thunderbird, and Butters quietly made himself comfortable in the backseat.

"The fuck took you, Tucker?"

"None of your business, asshole."

"Fuck you, Craig."

The rest of the ride to school was silent.

* * *

Craig's heart hammered in his chest. His usual indifferent gaze seemed more alert, but less alive. He tap tap tapped his pencil against his desk. God, this day wouldn't end. He felt like he'd been sitting in his 7th hour chemistry class for like 3 years.

It kept replaying in his head. Fucking Tweek. Fucking him, imagining how the infection must have spread _as _he was fucking him, his insides probably being torn apart as he sat in class. Sure, he couldn't feel it. But he was dying. He just knew that he was dying. Maybe slowly, or maybe it'd all be over in a couple of days. Craig didn't know. Fuck. Tap tap tap.

What about Tweek? When would he die, if Craig didn't kill him first? Tap tap—

"Craig, stop," Stan chided, looking up from his book. Naturally, the fact that Stan spoke up made everyone in the whole class stop what they were doing and stare at Craig.

"Mr. Marsh, is there a problem?"

Stan tore his typical "rival" glare away from Craig to look up to their teacher, Ms. Cross. "Sorry Ma'am," Stan replied sweetly. "That tapping was just distracting me from my b—"

Stan was interrupted by students gasping as Craig began to empty the contents of his stomach (breakfast pizza and chocolate milk) onto the floor.

"Somebody help him!" Ms. Cross shrieked in panic, searching for something that ... well, she didn't exactly know what she was searching for. Probably her way of not getting involved in the pukey mess, and letting the students handle it.

Clyde and Token rushed to their friend's side, trying to lift him out of his seat and escort him somewhere that he could... deposit his waste more appropriately. But he continued to wretch vomit, and eventually just bile.

"Dude, sick," Token grimaced, trying to keep Craig from spattering any vomit onto himself.

"Fuckin' pussy! What the fuck," Cartman cackled from across the room, earning a jab in the gut from Wendy and a good finger pointing from their teacher.

Feeling pretty stupid, Craig jerked away from his two friends that were trying to help him. "Fuck off, guys, I can handle it."

All of the students in the class stared after Craig in awe as he stormed out, wiping puke off of his face and slinging it across the room. He hoped it hit Stan.

* * *

Craig braced himself over the disgusting toilet, dry heaving. It hurt. It fucking burned. He exhaled shakily, feeling the muscles in his stomach clench and unclench. It hurt so bad.

"Craig?" A familiar voice. "Craig, open the door."

He craned his neck to look under the door of the stall, and judging by the beat up Comey boots, Craig assumed it was Kenny. "Dude, no, I'm barfing."

"Open the goddamn door."

Craig wearily reached up and unhooked the hinge that held the door shut. Kenny cautiously opened the door, his face contorting as he saw the mess inside, and slung all over the toilet.

"I'm done with the vomit shit," Craig practically choked, "But I'm still heaving, u-ughhh."

Kenny rubbed Craig's back, being very used to taking care of people who were getting sick over toilets. A lot of years of drinking, and a lot of years of getting sick because of it.

"Everyone's really worried about you, Craig. You're really off today."

"I just don't feel good. I'm sick."

"Maybe you got it from Tweekers," Kenny joked.

Craig's shoulders visibly tensed. His eyebrows furrowed underneath his matted hair. "Shut the fuck up, McCormick."

Kenny was taken aback by Craig's sudden aggression. He could be a real asshole, but not usually like this. He looked like he was about to fucking _pounce_. "Jesus, Craig, I was fucking with you. Relax. Where is Tweek, anyway? He's not latched onto your arm like usua—"

Pop. Right in the eye.

The tall boy cracked his knuckles, exiting the bathroom stall. He glanced nonchalantly at Kenny, whom he had just knocked out. Craig was going home.

* * *

Craig sighed as his world disappeared around him. It'd been a while since he last smoked pot. (The football team had a lot of drug tests, and Craig didn't want to lose his position to Stan.) He figured he needed it right now though. That, and a hot bath.

Normally, this would be quite a relaxing setting. He would settle down and start feeling pretty good. But he didn't feel good— no, it was quite the opposite. He was jittery. Worse than Tweek, probably.

Tweek. Goddamn fucking Tweek.

Craig angrily inhaled a majority of the small joint he had rolled. He let his head sink under the steaming water, and exhaled underneath, his smoke bubbling to the top.

It wasn't an unusual thing for Craig to think about Tweek all day. Pretty common. He _was _in love with the kid. (Though, the thought of loving him at the moment made him want to slit his throat.) But this thinking... it wasn't the same as usual. It wasn't the excitement of being able to see him after school. Wasn't the butterflies he got when he thought of kissing Tweek's soft, warm mouth. And it wasn't arousal- it was adrenaline.

He couldn't even fathom the emotion, himself. He kept thinking about how he would react the next time he saw Tweek— would he kill him? Kiss him? No, definitely not. He didn't know.

The only thing he did know was that somehow, he subconsciously started touching himself under the water, and... Well, shit. Now he was whacking off. He sat up, his damp hair sticking to his face in pieces. He used his left hand that he had been bracing himself on the bath tub with, to take another hit off of the joint. He finished it off, continuing to angrily jerk himself off. His brows furrowed and his breathing became less steady, and more heavy.

Fuck. Things seemed so unreal. Craig felt as though none of this were really happening— it was all a dream and he'd wake up.

"Ahh, fuck..."

Craig's jaw clenched and he stared straight ahead. He wanted to tear Tweek apart. He tightened his grip on himself. He thought of the way Tweek looked when he fucked him. He would always let completely loose when they had sex, and it was fucking hot. He was a completely different person in the sack. He thought about the way that Tweek's hands would move across his back, soft at first, then his fingernails, _God_, those fingernails...

Craig found himself muttering Tweek's name as he reached that wonderful, wonderful orgasm that he'd been longing for. He rested his head on the faucet of the bathtub when he finished, sort of disgusted. Not only by the fact that he was now bathing in his own semen, but that he had actually masturbated to Tweek, the most disgusting, vile, wonderful, despicable person on this planet.

Craig ended up taking a shower and scrubbing his skin until it was red and it hurt. He felt so unclean. He felt disgusting. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wash off the inside of his body. Which, ultimately, was what he _knew_ he was trying to clean.

* * *

Tweek grumbled and rubbed his eyes. The obnoxious vibrating of his phone on his nightstand woke him up. Probably Thomas texting him.

_Hey. U still awake?_

Nope, not Thomas... It was Craig. Tweek stared at the message for about five minutes before registering. He didn't expect Craig to ever talk to him again. He'd been in bed for a while- since Craig had left after beating the shit out of him. He hadn't moved.

Tweek's thumbs ghosted over the green LED keyboard on his phone.

_yeah i aam, whats up... i didnt expect you t to talk to me again._

A couple of very anxious minutes.

_I love u. I can't stop tlking 2 u. Even if I do hate u._

_you make no sense.. id ont udnerstand_

_Can I come over?_

Tweek's eyes glazed over. He didn't want to cry. Why would he start crying, anyway? "S-shit." He didn't know how to respond. He didn't know if he wanted to see Craig... Well, no. That was a lie. He did want to see him. But he knew that nothing good would come out of it.

_you're j just lonely. trust me, you dont wanna come see me. im a wreck. nd i know you are too._

What was Tweek supposed to do? Maybe Craig was setting him up... He wanted to kill him. Hell, he said it himself. Craig hated him. He wanted to kill him, completely fucking destroy him. He wanted Tweek dead.

_I just wanna talk 2 u about stuff. Thats all, then ill leave._

_you're lying_

_Whatever, i'm already on my way right now._

Shit, now it was panic time. Tweek scrambled out of bed, socks sliding across the hard floor, and locked his window. That was always how Craig got in. Went downstairs, locked the front door. Back door. All windows. Back upstairs. Locked his own door. Craig was going to kill him. FUCK, Craig was going to kill him!

Tweek had never been so terrified of Craig in his life. Sure, he feared Craig. He was much taller, stronger, and had beaten the shit out of him several times. But this time— Craig surely meant business.

"Oh Christ!" Tweek brought his trembling hands to his face to gnaw on his nails. Now would be a wonderful time for a needle in his arm.

Then there was Craig's signature tap tap tap on his window. Shit! How could Tweek have been so stupid? He locked the window, but he didn't take down the ladder... ugh.

"C-Craig, go home!" Tweek hissed, looking at Craig through the window with wide eyes. Craig was wet. It was raining.

"Tweek, it's raining and I'm cold. I just wanna see you." His words were slightly muted by the glass that separated the two.

"AH! You're gonna hurt me, no!" Tweek banged his palm against the window in some sort of pathetic attempt to make Craig go away. "Go home!"

Tweek wanted to let him in, he really did. He tried to say more, but words wouldn't come. Why was this happening? He was more flustered than he had ever been. He had gone from confused to paranoid to scared to confused to... what was this? His eyes were wet.

Tweek remembered, back when they first got together, how Craig would take care of him, and hold him, and kiss his eyelids, and whisper to him when he got upset. Now, all he did was tell him to shut up, or hit him.

Craig watched as Tweek viciously wiped his eyes with his sleeves. He just stared, unmoving. He sighed. "Please."

Something in him wanted to see Craig. Wanted to touch his hands, kiss his neck, get so close to him that they breathed the same air. Tweek cupped his left hand over his mouth, hiccuping a sob, and used his right to unlock the window. He was going to regret it later, and he knew it.


	4. Building Coffins

Craig removed his chullo from his head, throwing it to the floor.

Shallow breaths escaped Tweek's quivering lips as Craig placed his hands on the back of his neck. It was the most gentle thing Craig had done to him since... well, probably ever. Tweek felt sick to his stomach. He was nervous. He didn't know what Craig was going to do. The shivering boy wet his lips, keeping his gaze away from the only person who could make him like this.

The two boys were sitting on Tweek's bed, criss cross applesauce, facing each other. Craig's warm hands were shaking, and it made the blond hairs on the back of Tweek's neck stand on end.

Honestly, the sexual tension was unbearable.

"Look at me," Craig commanded hoarsely. Weakly.

Instead of looking at him, the mere sound of his voice made Tweek's eyes close tightly. He didn't want to cry again. God, he felt like such a pussy. He hung his head, trying to keep from looking at Craig. The hands on the back of his neck began to migrate to his shoulders, rubbing in what was probably supposed to be a comforting way, but this was Craig.

The same Craig that had hit him countless times.

Tweek tried desperately to calm himself. His heart was beating erratically; he needed a fix. "C-Craig," Tweek began, still not daring to look up at him. "I... I need ... ack, can you give me a minute?"

"No," Craig answered almost too quickly, his grip on the small boy's shoulders tightening. He knew damn well what Tweek wanted to do, and he wasn't about to let him do it. He tried not to lose his temper as Tweek spoke up again.

"I just need to shoot up a little, really fast, or I'm gonna have a seizure or something—" Tweek squeaked, trying to be a little humorous.

"No, you don't. What you need to do is sit here and talk to me. We need to be with each other right now." It sounded so stupid of him to say. He didn't say things like that. Ever. He hoped that Tweek didn't take it as some sort of romantic comment.

Even if he did love Tweek more than he'd ever love anything else. Even if he was so in love with him that he consumed his every thought.

He loved Tweek.

"...I hate you, Tweek."

"I know."

Before Tweek could try to say how sorry he was, yet again, Craig's lips met his in the softest kiss the two had shared since the very first time they had kissed.

Of course, Tweek started crying. His shoulders quaked and he allowed quiet sobs to come forth as the older boy's tongue slipped through the part in his lips, and into his mouth. Their mouths moved in perfect time with each other, used to one another's style of kissing. Craig slid his tongue against Tweek's, their hot breathing becoming labored.

It felt like the way it used to feel, back when they were happy. When they were nothing more than sixteen year old boys that thought they knew what love was.

Apparently, neither of them knew the first thing about love. Not if it came to this.

The soft kiss became rougher with each passing second, and each sweep of tongue. Tweek took Craig's tongue ring in between his teeth, tugging him forward. Craig grabbed both sides of Tweek's face and their lips connected with bruising force.

Tweek gasped against Craig's mouth, instinctively crawling over to straddle his lap. Strong hands moved down to the small of Tweek's back, pressing closer to him. Tweek tried to adjust himself on Craig's lap, but he was pulled back down against him.

Tweek was almost overwhelmed at what Craig was doing to him; sucking and biting at his neck, and groping his ass as if he would never get to again. Though, his actions weren't the same as they used to be. They were different; malicious, almost. But, those wonderful hands rubbed Tweek's inner thighs, drawing a soft moan from the small boy.

"Nn, Craig," His voice was soft and he knew that both of their intentions were anything but innocent. "Don't stop," he breathed.

"This doesn't change things between us," Craig snapped. "I still fucking hate you. I still want you dead. Doesn't mean you aren't a good fuck."

The words hurt. It was literally painful for him to hear Craig say that. Tweek almost flinched at them.

"…Just don't talk to me," Tweek rasped.

Craig stilled their current activities to stare at the boy on top of him. "What did you just fucking say?"

"Don't t-talk to me, Craig." Tweek felt like he was going to throw up. He let his head fall, as not to look at the only person he'd ever cared about.

Craig laughed bitterly and jerked Tweek up by his arm. His fucked up arm, at that. "You don't want me to talk to you," he spat, mocking him. He let out another low chuckle and pressed his forehead to Tweek's. "I'm going to make your life a living hell. You think AIDS will kill you? Let's see if you don't kill your fucking _self_ first, by the time I'm done with you."

Tweek was thrown to the floor, feeling his neck bend in a way that he didn't think was natural.

He coughed, looked up, and Craig was gone.

Tweek cried the whole night.

* * *

"Really, dude? You're stupid as fuck," Kyle laughed, punching his best friend in the shoulder.

Stan sighed through his teeth and shut his locker. "Thanks, dick. Seriously. He's such a fucking douche, I really can't stand him. I'm just glad he hasn't been here."

Kyle nodded, some of his red curls falling into his face. "It's weird though, cause you know who else hasn't been here?"

Stan cocked his head, curious. "Who?"

"Tweek. Kinda weird, huh?"

The taller boy shrugged, shoving his calculus book into his bag. "Leave them to whatever it is they're doing. I'm sure it's no coincidence, but I really don't care, dude." He flipped his hair out of his face. It was getting sort of long.

Kyle smirked. He thought it was hilarious how much Stan hated Craig. Pretty much everyone outside of Craig's little clique hated him, but Stan's hatred was deeper than that. It was sort of creepy, considering the fact that Stan was usually a really laid back, neutral person.

The two left the school together, but Stan stopped at the door outside of South Park High. Kyle turned around when he noticed that the other boy wasn't walking along with him. He groaned.

"Dude, really? Again?"

"I'm sorry… She really wants to hang out, man. I can't say no to her. …You know?" Stan wore a sympathetic look, but Kyle continued to stare at him blankly.

He rolled his eyes. He figured that he should probably be used to Wendy coming first. "Whatever, dude. Wendy has you fucking whipped."

Stan looked around, making sure no one was around, before stepping closer to his super best friend. "You know I wish I could hang out with you, instead. You know I do."

"That doesn't make a bit of difference. It's not like you don't wanna hang out with her."

"Kyle."

Kyle glanced from side to side, and chewed his lip before leaning up and quickly pressing his mouth to Stan's. He smiled, his lips curving up perfectly.

Stan licked his lips and checked for any audience they might have had, before leaning down and kissing Kyle again, his hands wandering to that ass that won "best butt" for the senior mock awards. Kyle surpressed a laugh and shoved Stan away.

"Quit it, someone's gonna see us. Go fuck your girlfriend. I'll see you later."

Stan playfully pouted, and Kyle pressed his hand the other boy's face. "Bye."

"Love you."

"I love you too."

Stan watched as Kyle walked away, smiling stupidly. He leaned against the brick wall, shoving his hands into his pockets. He observed quietly as people started to depart from the school.

Kenny and Butters were walking together, waving Kyle over to them. Bebe was latched onto Token's arm, perky breasts bouncing with each step. Clyde was tagging along behind them with Red. Jimmy was hobbling out of the school, while Kevin held the door open for him. The group of goth kids quietly acknowledged Stan with nods of their heads and puffs of cigarette smoke in his general direction.

…And there was Cartman, antagonizing Wendy. Who was angrily approaching. It was clear that she was ignoring whatever he was saying, but she was pissed, and it was obvious.

"Hey babe, hey Cartman—" Stan began nervously. Wendy was pissed. And when Wendy was pissed, Stan was more "whipped," as Kyle put it, than usual.

"Get this mother fucker away from me," Wendy snapped.

"Pussy feminist bitch, you're gonna make your boyfriend get rid of me?" Cartman laughed, throwing his head back. "Stupid bitch."

"Cartman, don't call my girlfriend a bitch," Stan said routinely, wrapping an arm around Wendy's shoulder. They walked away from Eric, who was still laughing hysterically.

"What did he do this time? I thought you guys were cool. Didn't you just take him to school this morning?"

"He's such an asshole, Stan! He fucking came up to me and 'apologized' to me for all of those times he's been a dick factory, and told me he'd write my essay. I know he's a good writer, Stan! He's an amazing writer! So I let him—"

"Wendy, seriou—"

"LET ME FINISH! So I let him, figuring that I could trust him. Seeing as how we've been _friendly _to each other lately. And he came back today, and you know what he did? He handed me a paper that said 'JK CUNT.' Like, really? I know he's an asshole, but _really_?"

Stan was bored of the story, but he still smiled at his girlfriend. "Wendy. It's Cartman."

He was pretty unsure of exactly how _friendly _Cartman could possibly be. For as long as Stan had known him, he'd been a manipulative, self-centered asshole. He didn't think that would change, but something about Wendy made him tone down his assholery by at _least _twenty percent. He was sort of jealous of their friendship for a while, but it faded with time.

"I hate that asshole more than you hate Craig."

Stan laughed, hugging Wendy to him closer. "I doubt that, babe."

* * *

"Bye, Butters," Kenny waved. When Butters told Kenny that he had to be home for "family time," he figured that he would walk home with Kyle.

The two boys walked side by side, in step with each other. Their shoes crunched against the frozen mess of a sidewalk. They were silent for a while, but it was a comfortable and mutual silence. Until Kenny spoke up, that is.

"I'm kinda worried about Tweek. I think Craig did something to him," the blond said to no one in particular, his mouth twisting into a concerned frown. He was obviously in serious mode.

Kyle turned to his friend. "Really? I thought that maybe they were just skipping school and fucking or something."

Kenny shook his head and kept his gaze on the sidewalk. "No, dude. The last time I talked to Craig, he knocked me out. Because I said something about Tweek. I think."

"Woah dude, he knocked you out? Why the hell didn't you say something?"

The blonde shrugged. "Didn't seem relevant or necessary, I guess. But really, I think we should check on Tweek. Maybe Craig too."

Kyle grimaced, making a strained looking face. "No thanks. Craig isn't exactly a big fan of me."

"Oh, right, because you're screwing Stan."

Kyle's face colored and his eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not."

"Yeah, and I'm not screwing Butters," Kenny drawled sarcastically.

Kyle fell silent, feeling kinda weird that Kenny would bring any of that up.

"Why Butters?" Kyle suddenly asked. "Not to be an ass, but just… Why him? I thought you were tearin' pussy up, anyways. Butters _does_ have a dick, you know. Contrary to popular belief."

Kenny chuckled and tightened the strings on his parka when the wind started blow harder. "I know. Kinda weird, huh? Probably because he's so fuckin' girly, he could be a chick. I dunno. He's a good lay though."

"I really never would have guessed," Kyle said with a laugh. "Innocent little Butters..."

"Yeah. You and him are the only two boys that I've ever wanted to fuck," Kenny mused.

"Yeah— Wait, what?" Kyle's head snapped in Kenny's direction, but said boy just began walking slower as they got closer to Tweek's house.

"Do you think that we should go see him?" Kenny asked, leaving Kyle pretty confused. How could he just change the subject so quickly after saying something like that?

"Jesus, Kenny, wait, I—"

Kenny ignored Kyle's protests.

"Fuck it, let's go. He probably needs someone to talk to, anyhow." Kenny tugged on the green sleeve of Kyle's sweater, leading him up the ledge to Tweek's doorstep. He let himself in, not bothering to greet Mr. or Mrs. Tweak as he dragged the redhead behind him.

"Ken, you can't just do that! That's rude!" Kyle shrieked, gesturing towards Tweek's parents who looked sort of confused, considering the situation at hand. Kenny shot a look at the red head that told him to shut up. And he did, when he was grabbed by the sleeve of his shirt again, and pulled up the stairs.

The stairway hall was weird. Kyle was so used to seeing family photos and school pictures hung up along that area. Instead, the Tweaks hung up awards that their coffee shop had received. Which were… most likely countless.

It was common knowledge that the Tweaks didn't really take care of (or care for, at all, really) their son. Tweek's parents reminded him constantly that he was an accident, and if he didn't do as they said, they had no problem throwing him out.

In fact, the older Tweek got, the less his parents seemed to give a shit.

Kyle followed close behind Kenny, who opened Tweek's door slowly and cautiously. Who knew what could happen if they startled him or interrupted something?

"Tweek…?"

Kyle had to force himself not to yell obscenities at what he saw. Tweek's room was completely dark, and the one window he had was boarded off. All over the floor were papers, pictures, and … syringes?

"Jesus Christ…" Kyle whispered. He looked over at Kenny, who was leaning over a lump under the covers on the bed. His hand inched forward slowly, resting on a shoulder that was presumably Tweek's. The lump turned over, and Tweek peered from underneath the blue blanket. His bloodshot eyes widened at first in shock, but shrank to slits again in realization that it was just Kenny and Kyle. Not Craig. Thank God.

"Tweek, dude, what's going on? Are you okay?" Kenny shook Tweek's shoulder a little bit, trying to get him to wake up and talk.

"Go away," Tweek managed to murmur weakly.

"Dude," Kyle moved closer to the bed and kneeled down so he could pet Tweek's blond mess of hair. He wasn't even shaking. It seemed like he was almost… calm. Which was when Kyle registered that something was really wrong.

"We're here to help you. Is everything okay? Where's Craig?"

"Urk! No! Don't, just stop!" Tweek sprang up out of the bed, clad in only a pair of boxer shorts with marijuana leaf designs on them. Kenny assumed that they were Craig's. "Just go, man! Fff-fuck, just go! Both of you!" He extended his skinny arms, struggling to try and push the two boys out of his room. (To no avail.)

His body was littered with violet bruises and cuts and scabs. More than the average human being. His left arm though, was the worst.

Kyle stared at it long and hard, and his eyes moved around the room, at all of the needles on the ground. Kyle's hands began to shake as he began to piece together what was going on. His head hurt.

He knew that Tweek did marijuana. Because, really, who didn't? And he assumed that he was cracked out and sniffed the rock, because… well, look at him. But... the big H?

"Tweek… you… are you shooting drugs, dude?"

Tweek was shaking again, and fell to his knees. His eyes were swollen and red. "Y-you guys gotta get outta here, man. Urk! Please!"

Kyle wouldn't have been shocked at all if his parents didn't know their son was doing heroin. Hell, he wouldn't have been shocked if they didn't know he was even in his room for three days straight, at all.

"How long has this been going on?" Kenny asked, moving to wrap his arm around Tweek. The two sat on the floor, and Tweek clung to him, breathless. Kenny rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. "Hey, relax… We're here for you, dude."

Kyle walked around the room, poking at the shit all over the ground with the toe of his shoe. It was weird listening to Kenny being comforting. He knew that Kenny was the most caring person he'd ever meet, but he had never actually seen him in action. Kyle trudged over and sat down awkwardly next to the two blond boys that were currently holding onto each other. Tweek was talking quietly to Kenny.

"_Gah_, Craig sent you, d-didn't he…?"

"No, I haven't talked to Craig. I swear," Kenny replied, voice low.

"Are you guys fighting?" Kyle asked dumbly.

"He hates me," Tweek croaked. His hands found his hair, thin fingers winding into it and pulling. "He really d-does, this time, urgh! He's f-for real, _FUCK_!"

Tweek let out a strained noise and began to go into some sort of psychotic fit. His teeth clenched together tight, and his entire body convulsed.

"He's having a seizure, dude!" Kyle panicked.

"No," Kenny answered, too calmly. "I think he's going through withdrawal." He looked at Kyle with a twisted expression, holding onto Tweek tightly as his tiny frame tensed and shook.

Kyle watched Tweek in fascinated horror, his mouth forming into a thin line.

"Kenny, we really need to fucking do something."

* * *

**A/N: **Oh my God, I hate this chapter so much LOL. I like the beginning, but from there it's like... no. Haha. Maybe because I'm sorta stoned. BUT THAT'S OKAY. I might edit it a bit later, but it was just a really shitty chapter to write. Hopefully my next update will be faster. Thanks, reviewers! ;)


	5. Spitting Games

**A/N: **Sorry for the short chapter! I've got a lot on my plate right now and haven't really had the motivation to write any chaptered stories. This is mostly all the other stuff happening on the side from Craig and Tweek. The next chapter will be very Creekie, I promise. ;D I hope you guys enjoy, nonetheless.

* * *

It had been only about half an hour since Kenny and Kyle had left Tweek alone in his room. And he was already going crazy again. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, looking at his empty desk drawer. A reminder that he was officially out of smack. What was he supposed to do? He promised Kenny that he would go to school tomorrow, but he couldn't go like this, could he? He was a wreck.

Tweek groaned as he forced himself out of bed, quietly padding to the bathroom across the hall. He flicked on the light and nearly let out an 'eep!' as his reflection in the mirror greeted him sourly. His expression turned to one of disgust as he observed himself in the mirror.

His eyes were sunken in, red, and sort of swollen. One of them had a shiny ring of purple around it from when Craig had nailed him. His cheeks had scratches all over them, some of which were self inflicted. He lifted up his shirt to look at his body, which looked dangerously skinny. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to be frail, but right now, he looked like a holocaust victim.

All of that, and he hadn't showered in what felt like a week.

Tweek sighed, continuing to stare at his reflection. He had to try to get himself together.

* * *

The walk home was painfully quiet. Kenny invited Kyle to his house to have a beer or two, and Kyle had accepted, but other than that… Nothing much was said. There was nothing really _to _be said.

But it became clear where Kenny had developed his 'open the door without knocking or greeting anyone in the vicinity' habit. Right when he opened the front door to his house, he grabbed Kyle and they made it to his room as quickly as possible.

"Definitely don't want to talk to the parents," Kenny laughed. "It's best to just avoid them."

Kyle let out a half-hearted chuckle, sitting down on Ken's bed. If it could be called that. Really, all it was, was a mattress on the floor with a knitted blanket strewn over it. Not even any pillows.

He watched as Kenny opened up a mini refrigerator, getting two Bud Lights and tossing one Kyle's way. He clumsily caught the beverage, nearly dropping it. He couldn't help but laugh.

"So, you're flat broke, not a penny to your name, and you have a mini fridge?"

Kenny 'tch'd and sat down next to Kyle. "It was a gift from Craig, actually. It was his old one. Motherfucker has so much money to blow now that he works at that auto place."

Kyle nodded and smiled, looking down at the can in between his two bony hands. "So… did you mean what you said?"

Kenny raised an eyebrow at his red haired companion, popping open his beer can and sipping the fizz that erupted from it. "Of course I did! Tweek has to come to school, Kyle. He can't just stay in his room and vegetate for the rest of his life until he dies."

"Not about that," Kyle muttered, feeling the need to pinch the bridge of his nose like his best friend often did. He felt kinda bad bringing up matters that didn't concern Tweek at this point, because it was clear that Tweek was Kenny's priority. He should have been Kyle's, too. And normally, he would be. But he couldn't help what was weighing on his mind, right?

"What?" Kenny set his can down on the carpet next to his feet, staring at it.

"Uh, what you said earlier. About … Butters and I," Kyle mumbled pathetically, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. Now he just wished that he didn't say anything.

Kenny turned to Kyle, who was biting his lip and staring at the floor like it was incredibly interesting, or something. He knitted his eyebrows and picked up his beer, sipping it gingerly. "What, saying I'd fuck you?" He tried to be nonchalant about it, but the topic made even _him _nervous.

"Y-yeah," Kyle blushed, looking at the floor. "I just wasn't expecting you to say it, I guess. I dunno."

"What, does that change things between us?" Kenny asked, still looking intently at the other boy.

Kyle found himself unable to look at Kenny. Sure, he'd always been attracted to Kenny, but… Kenny was straight. Kenny didn't go for boys. Especially boys like Kyle. He was skinny, had stupid curly red hair, and was kind of awkward. What the hell would Kenny fuck him for?

"N-no," Kyle sputtered. Lie.

"Kyle," Kenny put a cautious hand on said boy's leg. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just saying. You're really attractive. It's nothing. We're still like, best friends. Not super best friends, like you and Stan, but still. This doesn't change anything, dude."

"Oh, yeah. Of course," Kyle nodded, smiling weakly. He was still avoiding eye contact. "I, yeah. We're just friends, dude. Besides, you have Butters, right? Yeah…"

"Yeah, exactly," Kenny agreed smoothly. "Nothing weird." He took a drink of his beer again, looking over to Kyle, who was already finishing his first one.

"I'll have another beer, if that's okay," he said hazily.

Kenny smirked, laughing a little. "Slow your ass down, Broflovski."

* * *

"Wendy, please tell me that you're joking. Tell me that Bebe put you up to this. Tell me anything but that."

"Stan… no. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Stan remained silent. Was this really happening? They hadn't broken up in almost two years. His lips became a thin line as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of something to say. Anything at all.

He held his cell phone away from his face, staring at the receiver. This wasn't happening.

"Stan, are you there?" Came Wendy's static laced voice from the small device.

Stan felt tears well up in his eyes. "W-What? Yeah— yeah, I'm here," he murmured, voice cracking. He blinked back the tears, getting his eyelashes wet.

The line was silent for a good moment or two. Was this it? Was this really it?

"Wendy, I just… why? That's all I want to know. Just… ugh, why?" Stan groaned and put his head in his hand, dark hair falling into his face.

"Stan, I don't really want to tell you… It's just going to hurt you—"

"Tell me," Stan demanded weakly. Token again, maybe? Stan figured he'd have to commit suicide or something if that happened. Well, not really. ...Actually, maybe. Yeah.

"There's… there's someone else, Stan."

No surprise there. He already saw this coming. He had been prepared for this from the moment that Wendy said that they should stop seeing each other. She never had any other reason for breaking up with him. Stan stayed quiet for a moment, expecting her to utter something about Token, but her beautiful voice didn't come.

"Wendy? …Who?"

"…I can't tell you, Stan."

"Why?"

"I just… I can't," Wendy said shakily. It sounded like she was crying. Or trying not to. One or the other.

"Wendy, just t—"

"You know how Cartman doesn't have his license? And I drive him everywhere? Well, we spend a lot of time together, and… I just..." She cut off, and started to sniffle.

Cartman? Eric Cartman? No… no, no way. Stan clenched his fists and shut his eyes. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry.

"Wendy, no…" Stan choked in disbelief. Cartman? Really?

"Stan, I'm sorry. I… I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"Wendy, wait!"

Click.

The raven haired boy's lungs closed up and he swore that he felt his heart split in two… again. He needed to call Kyle. Kyle could always make him feel better. Stan knew that Kyle didn't want to hear about bullshit with Wendy, but hell, he'd probably be happy about them breaking up anyway.

He pressed the #2 speed dial on his phone, for Kyle's blackberry. Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring.

Ring.

Kyle didn't answer.

Stan called him again. Twelve times. Kyle still didn't answer.

"...Fuck."


End file.
